Page 95 of Homestead

I glance back once. I can’t help it.

Jimmy is hanging out of the rear of the vehicle, his right hand extended to hold his pistol in place.

But he gives me a little salute with his left hand.

The small gesture slices at my chest.

I ignore it. Accelerate into a sprint. There’s shouting behind me. Gunfire. I’m desperate to turn to see what’s happening, but that would slow me down.

Jimmy is counting on me. I’m the only possible way he’s getting out of this alive.

So my only priority is to run and keep running.

That’s what I do.

* * *

I’m not sure how long I run, but it’s longer than I’ve run in my entire life.

I’ve never been very good at it. My legs aren’t long, and my boobs are way too big. They flop around painfully since I don’t even have a bra to hold them in place.

Maybe those three bad guys came after me, but I don’t hear them after the first minute of muffled shouts and gunshots.

Maybe Jimmy was able to shoot them all. Unlikely but not impossible.

I hold on to that hope.

I can make it back to the Carlsons’ farmhouse. We can get a group together to go after Jimmy. He’ll still be there—wounded in the back of the Jeep. Alive and waiting for us to get him.

It could happen.

Why shouldn’t it happen?

He doesn’t have to be dead.

I sprint until my lungs burn and my head roars and my legs won’t work anymore. Finally I have to rest for a few minutes to catch my breath. Then I start running again at a more moderate pace.

I’m not being followed. I’m sure I’d know by now if I was. Those men’s legs are way longer than mine, so they could have easily caught up to me if they were really giving chase.

They’re not. But I still need to get to the Carlsons’ as soon as possible to save Jimmy, which means I can’t slow down.

I keep going in the same direction Jimmy indicated even though it seems to take forever. Hopefully I’ll eventually get to a landmark I recognize. It’s entirely possible I’ve angled wrong and will end up far off my intended destination, but surely eventually I’ll recognize something.

At one point, I have to stop to throw up and then spend a few minutes recovering. I slow down even more after that. My body simply won’t move any faster.

The moon is full and high in the sky when I finally see the road that takes us from our little cabin to the community of farms and houses where the Carlsons live. It’s almost exactly the spot where we were waylaid.

I sure hope more of those guys who attacked us aren’t lurking around to strike again. If they are, there’s nothing in the world I can do to hold them off.

I can barely stand up straight.

There’s no one else in sight when I reach the road. No sound except crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl.

I limp my way back down the road until I finally get to the Carlsons’ familiar farmhouse. I’m wheezing and bending over when I pound on the front door.

Greta opens it with a gun in her hand.

I can’t hold myself up anymore, so I fall into her arms.

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